


Just Craving You

by Cosmos (Cat__Astrophe)



Series: Just Craving You [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bad Cooking, Cooking, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, Food, Happy Ending, Italian Tony Stark, Light Angst, Lots of Cursing, Lots of European Foods, M/M, Millionaire Steve, Personal Chef, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recipes, Rich Avengers, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat__Astrophe/pseuds/Cosmos
Summary: ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧“Again, don’t worry, Steve. I’ve got the perfect person in mind. They’re a personal friend of mine and I assure you, they cook the best food I’ve ever eaten in my whole life and you shouldn’t be worried whatsoever about letting them into your house’s kitchen. The food that he makes is so worth it.”↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝He twisted his face in both confusion and in contentment - it was so weirdly relieving that a simple meal was solely responsible for doing this to him. Who knew that really well-made food could have such a dramatic effect on him?✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧Overburdened with responsibilities and business that he did not sign up for when he became a millionaire, Steve starts skipping more and more meals and finds himself less and less available to go out to eat with his friends. Maybe he should just hire a total stranger to be his personal chef and invite him into his personal penthouse - he won't regret the decision at all. Right?✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧I'm so terribly sorry—in the past year of this whole COVID-19 thing, I've lost almost all my motivation to continue this story. Maybe one day I'll come back to it, but for now, it remains DISCONTINUED.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts & James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: Just Craving You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701385
Comments: 25
Kudos: 40





	1. Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Bucky and Rhodey try to get Steve to finally go out and eat something that isn't leftover frozen pizza.
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Enjoy this prototype chapter! Please let me know if you'd like to read more!
> 
> c;
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Love y'all 3000,
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> 𝒞𝒶𝓉.
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

“Have you finished those personal letters those clients that have purchased your most recent artworks, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve looked up from his desk that’s currently littered with various paperwork and sheepishly smiled at his assistant.

“Uh,” the blond tugged at his dress shirt’s collar. “No, not yet, Pepper. And you know it’s not necessary to address me by that name, right? We’re friends after all, aren’t we?”

Pepper rolled her eyes and pushed her neatly tied ponytail of strawberry blonde hair behind her head.

“Of course, Steve. But unfortunately, some representatives of your company’s business partners are visiting today and I’m afraid of them thinking that we have more than just a professional relationship.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Steve nodded and looked back down at his desk. “Sorry, I forgot about them. I hope that they’re not bothering you too much. I’ll let you know when I’m done with these letters, Ms. Potts.”

“Alright then,” Pepper smiled as she closed his office’s door. “Good luck with the rest of them, I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you.”

“Thanks, Pepper.”

Steve sighed as she left and glanced up at his computer screen to scan the remaining buyers that he still had to write a letter to. There were only 5 names left on the screen but considering at the speed that it takes for him to handwrite sincere letters that he was sure wouldn’t offend his patrons, it would take him more than just a few hours to finish them all. Consequently, that probably meant he would have to miss dinner. Again.

A groan escaped his lips before he could muffle it, and Steve slumped down into his office chair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’s eaten a proper dinner since all his suppers this past week has merely consisted of leftovers from lunch, frozen _pizza_ , or slices of chocolate cake. As much as he regrets admitting it, Steve kind of started to miss those awful barbecue grill-outs that Bucky used to host once every two months. Extra well-done yet questionable meats sounded much better than the half-eaten pepperoni _pizza_ that Steve had stashed away in his fridge back home. However, throwing out the leftovers and ordering something new was not an option; Steve absolutely hated to waste food and letting it rot away in his fridge definitely did not sound sanitary.

Maybe he should just suffer through it and crash into his bad right after. Perhaps falling asleep will help him to get through the uneasiness that’ll undoubtedly come after eating cheap takeout and frozen _pizza_ for an entire week. He’s never tried it but Steve knows that he’s never going to forget last month where his stomachache lasted over a whole day just because of all the poor-quality food that he’d consumed.

And somehow society still thought that being a millionaire meant being able to have 5-star and 5-course dinners every day.

It was stupid honestly.

Sure, he could afford food for weeks and maybe even months to come, but that didn’t always mean he wanted 5-star meals for the rest of his life. Sometimes a nice inexpensive burger could really satisfy Steve’s cravings, especially after long hours holed up in his art studio. Speaking of which, a burger and some fries sounded really good to his appetite right about now.

Steve’s stomach lightly growled at the thought but he pushed his mind to concentrate on finishing those letters that he was supposed to have done half-an-hour ago. He could think about food later after he’d completed the rest of his ever-growing mountain of paperwork.

Steve wholeheartedly knew that he should grateful but he didn’t ask for this. No one ever asks for mounds of paperwork that people could literally drown in; he didn’t ask for the responsibilities that came with thousands, maybe even millions, of young artists looking up to him. He only wanted to paint and make a stable living off of it. It wasn’t his fault that his fellow college art students _really_ liked the chemical formulas of his vibrant, custom-made paints. Or the sturdiness and smoothness of his also custom-made color pencils. However, even those inventions were only his _ideas_. More than half of the credit was owed to his good friend Bruce, who actually helped him to formulate and create the right chemical makeup for his fantastic art supplies. But since when has anyone appreciated a scientist for his ingenious, scientific work instead of downright ogling at the pretty natural landscape painted by an artist who used that scientist’s work?

As far as the blond knew from personal experience, never.

More often than not, attempting to get his friends and coworkers the credit that they deserved was almost impossible. Especially when he was a world-famous artist and millionaire. People seemed to only want to pay attention to him yet Steve hated diminishing the significance of his friends whenever they stood next to him at a press conference. It was always a horrific and unbearably guilty feeling but his friends never seemed to mind. They were the best that Steve could ever ask for, in that way.

Just as the topic of his friends had reached his mind, Bucky bust through his office door, uncaring for the loud and peace-disturbing noise that he usually caused after slamming it shut.

“Steve! How long have you been holed up in here?” Bucky peered at him, amused. “The whole gang’s waiting for you down in the lobby for dinner, remember? We’ve been planning this since last month!”

Right. It was Friday, April 10th. The day Steve was supposed to be going out with his friends to eat at their monthly restaurant of choice. It’s been a tradition ever since he was a kid but lately, Steve’s rarely had the time to even think about dinner.

“Sorry, Buck.” The blond nervously chuckled. “I think I’m going to have to skip out on this month’s dinner. Again. Sorry…”

“Aw, come on, Steve!” Bucky sighed. “What is it this time?”

“I’ve just got so much work to do, ugh. I’ve barely even started these personal letters and they were supposed to be finished over an hour ago.”

“Are you serious, punk? You know where we’re going tonight - Howard Stark’s! Didn’t you promise that you were going to say ‘hi’ to him today?”

Another groan escaped Steve’s lips as he put his head in his hands.

“Tell him that I couldn’t make it today and that I promise to be there next time. And make sure to let him know that I’m sorry, really sorry.”

Bucky’s disappointed glare softened as he slowly approached Steve’s desk.

“I’m sorry for getting so worked up over this, Steve. But have you seen yourself? You haven’t eaten a proper dinner in a week! And I highly doubt that your lunches _this_ week have been nothing but cheap takeout and granola bars! Everyone’s worried about you seeing that you’re always crammed up in this office - you haven’t even finished a whole painting in a month! We really think that you’re too busy for your own good.”

“I’m glad that you and the others are worried about me, Buck, but I’ll be fine. I’ve got leftovers and some _pizza_ at home and I desperately need to finish this. You know how important this is to me.”

“Yeah, but is this work really that important when it’s messing with both your sleep schedule and your eating habits? I swear that if you stepped on a scale right now it would start flying because of how much weight you’ve lost!”

Steve cast his best friend an unamused scowl. “Not funny, Buck. Literally, I checked my weight three days ago and it’s barely changed - it’s only gone down about five pounds. Again, I’m really fi-“

The blond was truthfully not expecting for Bucky to slap his bionic arm against his forehead.

“For god’s sake, Steve! _Five_ pounds is not ‘barely changed! Before you know it, your metabolism is going to fucking eat your entire body up!”

“Bucky! I’ll be fine! Can’t you or Bruce just bring me some food back?” Steve asked while trying to concentrate on neatly writing the remaining letters.

His friend sighed and said, “Steve, you really know that you can’t keep doing this forever, right? I’m- We’re _all_ worried about you. This really isn’t healthy and we want to help you so you can have a fresh dinner every night after work, not some leftover scraps that you’ve had for lunch or that we’ve brought home for you after _our_ nice dinner. You deserve a quality meal too, and you sure-as-hell haven’t had one in probably weeks, I’d say.”

“Well, what am I going to do, Buck?” Steve exclaimed. “I’m still new to this business stuff, and more often than not, I have no clue what I’m fucking doing! Sure, I have Pepper but it all truly depends on me to keep this company running and stable enough to even bring food on the table! I have to keep working, can’t you see? I’ve got to keep learning and improving and once I’m able to run this company in my sleep, I’ll let myself enjoy a good meal.”

“Goddammit, Steve.” Bucky put his arm against his forehead, again. “What the hell are we going to do with you?”

Bucky then focused his gaze at Steve and stated, “You do realize that you’re a millionaire, right? You’re a real, goddamn, fucking millionaire, Steve! Your company isn’t going to become corrupted and its stock isn’t going to crash if you just take one little break for a proper dinner for once!”

The blond shook his head as he reached for another sheet of computer paper, “I’m not going to risk it, Buck. This is my life now - might as well accept it. I have, now it’s your turn.”

“Yeah, right,” Bucky snorted, “Like I’m ever going to accept that you are blatantly putting your health in danger and that you’re overworking yourself for the most pointless reasons ever.”

Steve glowered at his best friend, “Bucky, for the last damn time: I’m fine. Go enjoy your dinner with everyone else, I’m staying here to finish this stuff up no matter what you do or tell me. You could try dragging me down to the lobby for all I care, it’s still not going to work.”

Suddenly, his office doors creakily opened to a James Rhodes standing in the doorframe, covered head to toe in some sort of dried modeling clay.

“Buck? You get his ass out of that chair yet?” Rhodey caught sight of Steve’s perplexed stare at his outfit and suspired, “I’m guessing not, judging by the fact that Steve’s ass is still glued to that chair.”

“Sorry, Rhodey, but I guess we’re going to have to tell the rest of the guys that Steve won’t be able to make it,” Bucky turned to Steve at the end of his sentence and glared at him. “ _Again_.”

Rhodey let out a very audible breath and contemplated Steve’s figure still frantically scribbling somehow neat words onto his letters.

“You know what, Steve? I know that you’re not always going to have time to eat meals with us anymore but that doesn’t mean that you should always miss out on your meals! Have you tried hiring someone to do the cooking for you? A professional who can just make you the food and deliver it to your house or your office every day?”

Steve paused what he was doing and gaped up at the sculptor, “Uh, no, Rhodey. I haven’t. I guess, I really haven’t.”

His friend raised one of his eyebrows and said, “Really? You haven’t? And can I ask why, Steve? Why you, one of the smartest people that we know, haven’t just hired a personal chef or a caterer by now?”

The blond blushed and peered at the pen in his hand, avoiding both Bucky and Rhodey’s questioning looks.

“Uh, I guess I never had a reason to. I mean, I always just eat whatever leftovers I had for lunch as my dinner. Plus, I just never thought of it.”

Bucky chuckled and scratched the back of his head, “Seriously? Steve, c’mon, I know you’re busy and all, but you really have to get it together.”

Steve ignored him and looked at Rhodey, “Uh, well, Rhodey… I don’t really know if I can even fit a personal chef into my schedule.”

“No worries, Steve. All you need to do is to hire someone, tell them what time you usually eat each meal, let them into your personal kitchen - if you’re okay with that, that is - or just tell them to cook your food at home, and sit back and watch your hot and steamy meals be delivered right to you every day. Also, let them know what types of food you like and I guarantee you that their food will be much more delicious than some leftover Mexican or Chinese.”

Scrutinizing Rhodey’s suggestion, Steve said, “Do you really think that would be a good idea? I’m not so sure about inviting a stranger to come into my house, guys.”

But Rhodey and Bucky were already too far gone into the idea. Possibly the thought of their friend actually getting to eat an adequate meal every night was more than enough to convince them to make the decision for Steve.

Rhodey’s dark-brown eyes were already lighting up as his head immediately came up with a solution to Steve’s concerns. They twinkled as Rhodey smiled smugly, his gaze never leaving the blond’s face as he addressed both Bucky and Steve at the same time.

“Again, don’t worry, Steve. I’ve got the perfect person in mind. They’re a personal friend of mine and I assure you, they cook the best food I’ve ever eaten in my whole life and you shouldn’t be worried whatsoever about letting them into your house’s kitchen. The food that he makes is so worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝


	2. Tiramisù

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Rhodey brings some food for Steve to try.
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧ 
> 
> Warning!: This chapter is quite cheesy. (Ha! Get it? I made a food pun.) Nevertheless, I hope that you enjoy reading it! Stay safe out there!
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Love y'all 3,000!
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> 𝒞𝒶𝓉.
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

“Hey. I’m back.”

Rhodey strolls over to where Steve was _still_ sitting in his office and gently placed a glass container of food onto his desk. Bucky, who was previously leaning against Steve’s desk, perked up, swiftly picked up the fragile tub, and squinted his eyes, examining it and its contents closely.

“Bucky, it’s not poisoned. You can set it down now,” Rhodey made an unimpressed face. “Let Steve just try it already. I promise it’s not going to kill him.”

Bucky shook his head and frowned at Rhodey, “I’m not worried about that, Rhodes. I was just surprised that it looks more than edible… it actually looks kind of good.”

“Were you expecting me to bring Steve dog food?” Rhodey gaped, annoyed, and took the container out of Bucky’s hands. “Just let him eat already, you asshole.”

“Geez, sorry,” Bucky chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sure it tastes amazing.”

“Liar,” Steve shot his best friend a look as he cautiously accepted the food from Rhodey’s hands. “Since when were you the optimist around here?”

“You’re right,” Bucky agreed. “I changed my mind. I bet it’s actually going to explode in your face and give you explosive diarrhea. Hey, Rhodes, how much you wanna bet?”

Groaning, Rhodey shoved Bucky, who stumbled a few steps back but didn’t seem fazed. “You fucking asshole; I’ll have you know that my _best_ friend made that! And the last time I’ve ever gotten diarrhea was right after one of your barbecue cookouts!”

“Ouch, no need to be so harsh,” Bucky pouted but snickered anyways. “It’s our job as best friends to absolutely annihilate each other’s bowels. Your ‘best friend’ doesn’t do that to you?”

“Actually,” Rhodey retorted, “No! Also, Steve has never done that to you either!”

“Well, that’s because Steve never cooks, isn’t that right, punk?”

“Will you two just let me eat already?” Steve barked. “I don’t need that image in my head right now!”

Bucky started to cackle but thankfully Rhodey forced him out of Steve’s office, finally bringing some peace into the room.

“Okay,” Steve sighed, “What is this stuff, anyways?”

“It’s _tiramisù_ , an Italian dessert,” Rhodey responded while he walked outside, returning to hand Steve a clean fork from a plastic bag that he had left outside. “It was freshly made just this morning and it’s been chilling in my fridge ever since. Try it, it’s delicious, trust me.”

“So, I’m assuming the reason why it has a giant chunk cut out of it is because you ate some of it for breakfast?”

Rhodey grinned, “Yup. I couldn’t help myself. I had originally intended to leave it for dessert after dinner but…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve smiled, and stuck his fork into the dessert, slicing out a small bite.

While the blond was inspecting the foreign delicacy, Rhodey said, “If you don’t like it, I’ve still got plenty of other stuff in my car. In fact, I’ll go get them now. Hopefully, they haven’t been ruined by now; the sun’s not out so I’m not that worried. Anyways, let me know what you think of it when I get back.”

He nodded and while Rhodey was just walking out of the door, Steve finally placed the _tiramisù_ into his mouth.

At first, Steve wasn’t sure what to expect of the taste. He could tell that there was some kind of powdered chocolate or something on the top so he mostly thought that it would taste like chocolate. Additionally, the piece that Steve had sliced from his fork was extremely light, not thick at all, which was definitely not how the cakes that Steve was used to eating behaved.

Truthfully, he was expecting it to be mediocre at best. He knew what good food truly tasted like. Due to his social and economic status, and shamefully to his morals, Steve knew exactly what the best types of exotic fruits and vegetables tasted like. He knew how to distinguish the tarty sweetness of fruits from the buttery and milky sweetness of bread, and as much as it hurt him to admit it, being somewhat wealthy did have its advantages. Along with his sense of taste, Steve managed to expand his horizons on all of his favorite cuisines. Not everyone gets to say that they’ve eaten fried scorpion from Southeast Asia and Steve only halfheartedly regretted the choice. Despite all of the strangeness that emanated from foreign foods, Steve loved trying new things and desserts were among his favorites.

The last time that Steve had eaten an exotic dessert was a couple of months ago when he had tried Chinese red bean pudding and as expected, he had loved it. It didn’t take much to win Steve over with some strange sweets or impress him with some tropical recipes due to the standards that he grew up with during his childhood. And now that the was all grown up, Steve had still managed to keep that youthful love of sugar along with him into his life as an adult.

Yet, Steve couldn’t remember the last time that he had Italian, much less Italian dessert, that wasn’t from Howard Stark’s restaurants. It had never been one of his favorite cuisines and only Howard Stark’s places served Italian that was worth its price. And even if Steve used to frequently visit Howard’s establishments, he almost always ordered the same Italian dish there for it was by far, in Steve’s opinion, the best option of Howard’s entire menu. Everything else Italian that Steve had ever tried always ended up being too cheesy or had too much sauce. Screw him for being picky, and he hated it because it reminded himself of how snotty and wealth-influenced he’s become but Bucky had always told him that the was allowed to have an opinion, even if it was just about how there was gorgonzola cheese on his authentic-Italian pizza instead of mozzarella. But Steve trusted his friend, and if Rhodey said it was worth a shot, he was more than willing to give it a try - especially when he was this hungry and hadn’t had a proper dinner in a week.

And when the _tiramisù_ entered his mouth and came into contact with his taste buds, he wasn’t exactly surprised or in shock of how wonderful the flavor was like Rhodey had promised he would be. In fact, it was quite ordinary: lightweight and fluffy, with a combination of vanilla and chocolate flavored-base with some sort-of cream filling. Honestly, it was quite nice and Steve was very open to eating some more o—

Oh.

Maybe he hadn’t had the dessert in his mouth long enough because suddenly the flavors blossomed in his mouth, and the food almost fell out of his mouth as he sat there with his jaw dropped to the floor. By the flavors and texture of the dessert itself, Steve recognized it and realized that he’s had this food before. But he knew that in the past, whenever he had had this dish, it didn’t taste nearly as extraordinary as the one he was eating right now. As Steve swallowed, he could accurately pick out the faint sprinkle of cocoa powder, the slab of heavy cream, and sugared chocolate all stacked together to form the almost ice-cream-like touch and taste of the dessert. And then the flavor of coffee erupted.

Something in the sweetness, delicateness, yet sharp taste of the treat smacked him hard like a hammer and he was whisked away to a memory that was previously buried deep inside his head - and the one thing that his mind could think of when he took another bite of the dessert, was his mother.

How an Italian dessert could remind Steve of his mom, he didn’t have a damn clue but it wasn’t bad. Not at all. On the contrary, the intense espresso and coffee flavor of the treat tasted astonishingly similar to how his mother had liked her coffee in the mornings. The chocolate tasted a lot like her chocolate-cake recipe and the scent of vanilla made his heart skip a beat as he breathed it in, reminded of how Sarah Rogers always smelled like vanilla, no matter how long she’s been away from the kitchen. He and his mother almost never had enough money to purchase heavy cream like the one he could feel upon his tongue, and it was the smoothness and silkiness of it that made him almost choke on just the thought of how hard his mother used to work to be able to afford the exceptional, milky-sweet cream that Steve used to love having his birthday cake slathered in. Everything, as a whole and as its stand-alone tastes, felt like the sensations of being caring and thoughtful, and Steve instantaneously knew that whoever had made this cake had loved cooking almost as much as, or even maybe more than, his mother. After all, when Sarah Rogers didn’t have the money or time to go to Spain or France, or to some tropical location such as the Bahamas, she always did have the money and time to bake something sweet and remarkably mouthwatering for Steve to feast on. And it was always the smallest of details, and the sweetest of gestures, that really catapulted Steve’s brain right back to his treasured Ma,because regardless of the lack of funds or the lack of time, Sarah Rogers was always the person to perform the tiniest and most kind actions to those around her, and more often than not, Steve was the direct center of her attention. And he loved it like that - every second of it until she had finally left him.

After several minutes of devouring the whole damn thing and reminiscing his Ma, Steve finished the entire dessert and leaned back in his chair, satisfied and oddly feeling a little bit fuzzy inside. He twisted his face in both confusion and in contentment - it was so weirdly relieving that a simple meal was solely responsible for doing this to him. Who knew that a _really_ well-made food could have such a dramatic effect on him? Or maybe this feeling was all caused by the fact that he hadn’t had an actually delectable dish in a very long time and because of how he’s mostly skipped dinner for the past month or so.

No matter what he tried to tell himself, Steve pondered when the last time was that he’s eaten something as exquisite as the dish that he’d just practically inhaled. When was the last time he actually loved a food so much that he was tempted to lick it clean? He’s definitely seen people such as celebrities lick plates clean whenever the food was just _that_ good; Bucky’s undoubtedly done it a couple of times before, too - especially with Sam’s mom’s hot fudge lava cake, - but Steve couldn’t remember the last time he loved a dessert so much. It was definitely more than just a strange craving and he was certainly not starving for sweets, so it must’ve been the specific way that the recipe was followed that could flip his stomach like this. Was this how Rhodey felt whenever he ate one of these dishes? How could he have such self-control to not have eaten the entire thing?

Either way, after having to restrain himself from pressing his tongue to the bottom of the glass container just to get another taste, Steve ultimately decided that _tiramisù_ was going to be one of his all-time favorite exotic desserts. But only when this certain person, Rhodey’s best friend, made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧


	3. Lasagne al Forno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Rhodey and Tony argue about whether Tony should take up the job or not; Tony makes some lasagna.
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝
> 
> Just so y’all know, currently, Tony is 23 while Steve is 25 in this story.
> 
> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝
> 
> Love y'all 3000,
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> 𝒞𝒶𝓉.
> 
> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝

“You gave _who_ what?! And he ate the _whole_ thing?!”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders, “I gave _Steve Rogers_ the _tiramisù_ that you made for me this morning. And yes, he told me he loved it and that he ate the _entire_ thing.”

“Wh-what?!” Tony groaned as he buried his face into Rhodey’s chest. “Rhodey! Why would you give a millionaire my crappy, barely-have woken up _tiramisù_ that I made at 6 AM?! I made that during the hour that I absolutely can’t fucking function no matter how much coffee I’ve consumed! Also, how long have _you_ known Steve Rogers?!”

His best friend rubbed his forehead and said, “For goddamn’s sake, Tony! _Calm down_! You function perfectly fine at 6 AM! Otherwise, Steve wouldn’t have said that he loved your _tiramisù_! Also, I brought him some of your other foods but I don’t think Steve’s tried them yet. And I’ve known him ever since he was still in NYU getting his art degree.”

“Oh, okay, you _coglione_. Just randomly drop it to me on a random day at a random time that you know a millionaire, _and_ that you gave him some of my _dannato tiramisù_! _And_ apparently, you gave him some of my other stuff?!”

“Huh?” Rhodey shot him a confused look, “Tony, speak English, please. I heard _tiramisù_ but I have no idea what the other words mean. And quit panicking! Yes, I brought him some of your other foods like your cannoli and risotto and maybe yo—”

“God fucking dammit, Rhodey,” Tony sighed and flopped down on his couch. “Whatever at this point. And tell me - why did you give him my food and why are you telling me this, again?”

“Well, Steve Rogers might or might not be looking for a personal chef right about now,” Rhodey informed him. “He’s a busy guy and honestly, me and the others are worried about his health with him skipping meals more and more frequently now. And I may have recommended you to him and told him that you’d be his personal chef.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Rhodey inhaled sharply but didn’t flinch, “Sorry, Tones, but you can’t sit here in your apartment all day waiting for your culinary degree to just magically put itself to use. You’ve been stuck at home for almost a week now - you’ve got to go out there and actually work! After all, how are you going to go on those baking sprees of yours without any money to actually buy the ingredients?!”

The brunet scowled and said, “I’m fine! And I don’t have any intentions of working for Steve Rogers and I’m only at home so I can be here to see if I’ve gotten a letter back from Obie’s and once I do _and_ get accepted, I’ll be off to work for him and I won’t have any money troubles whatsoever once I do!”

“Just face it, Tones. You should’ve never quit your job at your dad’s in the first place.”

Tony gritted his teeth, “I already fucking told you why I left that _stronzo_ , - he’s an absolute evil piece of _merda_ and I refuse to cook anything for him!”

“But Tones, he paid you really well! You’ve got to realize that even if your dad is a complete jerk, at least you were somewhat surviving off of him!” Rhodey growled. “Now you’re just lazying around listening to rock music and leaving heaps of scrap paper all over your apartment floor!”

“Hey! Those scraps of paper are actually recipes that I’m working on! Don’t you dare criticize them!”

“Are you actually kidding me, Tones?” Rhodey said, just slightly ticked off. “Who knows when you’re finally going to pick your ass off of the floor and go and get a job again? I’m literally offering you one right now and you’re going to get paid really well for it too! Plus, most of your work time would be just cooking whatever you feel like and just giving it to Steve! You can literally experiment with all the recipes that you could ever come up with, in his kitchen and cook whatever the hell you want, too! Now, can you tell me how the hell could that ever sound like a bad idea?”

“I-I,” Tony fumbled, “I just don’t like this Rogers guy, okay?”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t. I have my reasons,” Tony said, “Don’t question me.”

Rhodey shot him an irritated look, “Tony, you don’t actually have any reasons to dislike the guy! Hell, I bet you don’t even dislike him at all! You’re just saying that so you don’t have to go to his house and cook for him! And can I ask you again: Why are so intent on not cooking for Steve? Also, I’ve asked you this already but you do realize that this is your opportunity to literally cook anything you want with the tech of a millionaire’s kitchen?”

Tony grumbled, his mind still set on refusing Rhodey’s offer, “What if he’s just like Howard? Or even worse, what if he’s at first, super sweet and then over time as I continue to work for him, he turns into a person like Howard?”

“My god, Tony!” Rhodey said, the annoyance he previously possessed slowly turning into frustration. “Steve is literally one of the nicest people I’ve ever known and if you work for him, I _promise_ you that he is not going to turn into your father! On the other hand, if you do accept, I can promise you that you won’t regret taking this job at all!”

The brunet pouted and shook his head, “Rhodey, I appreciate your help, I really do. But this is my life and I intend to live it how I want to. You can’t control what I do, Rhodes - and you definitely cannot pick my career for me. I don’t want to wait on some rich guy hand and foot and you _definitely_ know why.”

Glaring at his best friend, Tony glanced at his clock, checked the time, swiveled around, and started to walk towards the kitchen, “Now if you’ll excuse me, since we’ve been arguing all morning and now that it’s 10 AM, I’m going to go start making myself some _lasagne al forno_ for lunch.”

Casting the brunet a worried look, Rhodey said, “Tony, at least think about it, please? You are honestly the smartest person I’ve ever met and you’re more than damn hell capable of using that big brain of yours to think about this decision. Use your smarts for once and think about all of the benefits that you can get from this! Think of all the freedom that you’ll get and creativity that you’ll be able to express once you start working in a high-tech kitchen that’s not one of your dad’s! Think of all the Howard Stark drama and pestering that you can escape if you make this choice - the right choice! Think of not having to go crawling to Obadiah every time that you fuck up in the eyes of your dad! This is _Obadiah Stane_ that you keep running back to; he’s not going to protect you and you sure as hell know that he’s not on your side! Just because he treats you better than Howard doesn’t mean he’s a better person; he’s just as much of a con-man and asshole as Howard! Steve is really the best option that you can go for right now and hell, if you do decline, I bet you won’t stumble upon a job opportunity that’s twice as good as this in 10 years after today! He’s a trustworthy person, Tones; I know him personally and he has an incredible personality! And if he even dares to think of treating you like Howard does, I swear on my entire art studio that I’ll cover him in all of my clay, roll him into a ball, drop him off at the top of Mount Everest, and watch him roll all the way down to the bottom! I’ve got your back, Tones, and I’m trusting you here to make the right choice to actually improve your life from this stinky, sad situation that you’re currently stuck in. Don’t just do it for yourself, do it for me, do it for Pepper, - please. You know perfectly well that we can’t stand to watch you like this.”

Tony’s surprised eyes had been frozen on Rhodey’s face the entire time he had been talking and sighing, his best friend pressed on, “Please, Tones. You’ve been stuck in here for how long now? A week? You know what that does to your body; you know what happens when you don’t let yourself do your crazy experimenting shit in the kitchen after a while - you start to lose control of yourself! Pepper and I really don’t want to have to drag you out of one of those dumps that you plop yourself into, again. It hurts us enough to watch you mope around your apartment; imagine what it’s doing to you, and you don’t even realize it! And as weird as this is saying it but: you’ve got to let that freaky, nerdy chef side of you take over once in a while and just let yourself go crazy cooking! ‘Cause, believe me, it really works for you: it lets you to truly be yourself, and there’s nothing better than me or Pepper walking into a kitchen one day, to find you in there with a smile on your face.”

By now, Tony had already turned around, facing the doorway to his kitchen but Rhodey knew for sure that he had been listening. Frankly, it was pretty had to get Tony to listen to him but if he just threw in the perfect words and formed it all into some kind of semi-emotional speech, he was almost guaranteed a positive response in favor of Tony’s own health.

If there was one thing that James Rupert Rhodes was good at that wasn’t sculpting, it was convincing his idiotic best friend to actually take care of himself every now and then. Sure, he wasn’t as good as or as intimidating as Pepper, but he still got the job done.

“Fine,” Tony reluctantly agreed and peacefully trudged into his kitchen while Rhodey silently cheered in his head. “I’ll _think_ about it - but no promises.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Rhodey smiled, “Thanks, Tony.”

“Yep, anything for you, Honeybear.”

↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝

This was a bad idea, right? Or was it a good one?

Tony took out his favorite glass pan for _lasagna_ and walked over to his pantry to grab the ingredients that he needed, including all-purpose flour, garlic cloves, fresh basil, and grated nutmeg. He gathered the organic tomatoes, ground sirloin, unsalted butter, whole milk, and mozzarella from the fridge. While first forming his pasta and then prepping everything else to start cooking, his mind began to wander to what Rhodey had said before he had left.

On the inside, admittedly, Tony knew that Rhodey was right, even if he really wanted to disagree with him. He knows that he doesn’t have as much common sense as his friends but he didn’t need Rhodey or Pepper to come bursting through his apartment and lecturing him for a good hour or two. They may have more common sense than the average person but Tony had his own reasons for not wanting to take up the job offer.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to Rhodey and his side of the argument, after all, how bad could Steve really be? If Rhodey was speaking so much praise about this one guy, then he must really be a sucker for Rogers because Rhodey almost never expressed general admiration for anyone. Although he still wasn’t one-hundred percent convinced, it was oddly soothing to hear his best friend comfort him and assure him that a future-possible boss of Tony’s would actually be a nice person - a major contrast against all of the bosses he’s worked in the past.

Also, did he really have much of a choice at this point? Right now, he was stuck in his apartment waiting for Obie, of all people, to write back to him with a letter accepting him. Since when did he depend on Obie for the answers to the problems that his father created? They were practically the same awful, dreadful person; they both loved micro-managing and being the ultimate top-dog of their respective businesses. He honestly hated Obie just as much as he hated Howard but it certainly made a difference when Obie would actually give him some recognition for being a person that was more than just Howard’s son.

While he cranked his pasta machine, Tony brainstormed all the possible outcomes that a job such as a personal chef could bring him. Freedom was a clear benefit and the thought of being able to independently work in a huge kitchen and create whatever the hell he wanted, made him crank the handle just slightly faster.

There was also the opportunity to use some actual good tools and technology to be able to finally make those recipes that he’s buried deep in his head because the tools that he’s needed to cook some of these highly-complicated foods were inaccessible to him. Tony’s never used a smart-fridge or an automatic pan stirrer with a timer before, although they were extremely unnecessary, he’s always dreamed of being to utilize the best types of tech for his most complex and intricate recipes. Curse his brain and its stupid fascination and love of technology.

Tony bit his bottom lip as he cooked the meat and garlic in a large pan with olive oil for his _sugo_ sauce, and his mind wandered over to the topic of his salary. He unquestionably wasn’t making any money presently, and he definitely wasn’t going to make any extra cash by giving his neighbors free _sfogliatellas_. In the past, Rhodey and Pepper had offered to pay him for the food that he always took the time to cook and bring over to them whenever they were too overly busy to make food for themselves, but he had politely declined them - they were his best friends; he was not going to let his _cazzo_ friends pay for food that he _wanted_ to make them.

However, despite outright declining his friend’s offers of payment and refusing to speak about the subject of his salary, it had always been one of Tony’s biggest worries. But if he worked for a millionaire, and the millionaire liked what he was doing, Tony was sure to at least make enough to last until the next year - and if he had any extra, he’d for sure be spending it all on those pricey bittersweet chocolate chips for his _salami di cioccolato_. A little extra money for his effortless talents frankly seemed like too good of a deal not to take.

He preheated his oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and hurried back to his simmering sirloin. As stupid as it was to admit it, Tony had never been even remotely satisfied whenever he worked for Obie, Howard, or any of those other snobby rich restaurant owners. He’s tried working at a low-paying fast food retail job before and that definitely did not take away any of the problems that he had encountered while working at more high-end jobs. On the contrary, it probably just _added_ to his problems with the horrific pay and constant berating from Howard for working at such a “disgusting and cheap” establishment. And even if Tony had practically scoured all of New York for the perfect job that could actually bring him contentment, no occupation that he’s been in could satisfy his taste or dreams of being his own cook: the money that his better jobs could pay him couldn’t satisfy him, neither could the exquisite and elaborate 5-star recipes and courses that he had the opportunity to make at places like Obie’s, and the loathsome treatment that he had received from his dad every day that he worked for Howard wasn’t remotely worth the job at all.

After preparing his _besciamella_ , he cooked his strips of pasta with salted water and a tablespoon of oil. Then he sliced the tomatoes thinly and evenly, with the expertise of a 5 star-chef, and covered the bottom of his pan with a layer of tomatoes slices. Then the layering began; the fresh pasta was laid on top of the tomatoes, a thin layer of _sugo_ sauce went on top of the pasta, a layer of _besciamella_ sauce went over it, shredded mozzarella was sprinkled on top, and then finally another layer of pasta covered the top of the dish. Tony repeated the layering process again until his layers nearly reached the rom of his pan, spread one thin layer of _besciamella_ sauce, some _sugo_ sauce, and topped it all with more mozzarella cheese.

As he popped his _lasagna_ pan into his preheated oven and set the timer for 45 minutes, the prospects of an actual good boss and all of the benefits that came with working in the house of a millionaire allured his head and Tony’s rapid brain sped off again; this time, he was determined to find some cons that could prove his point to Rhodey if he decided to turn his best friend’s offer down.

Surprisingly, there weren’t a lot of cons that Tony’s ever-clever brain could think of. Sure, working in someone else’s home might mean that he would be far away from his own home, but he was pretty sure that the headquarters of Steve Roger’s company wasn’t that far away from his apartment complex; it had to be only a few blocks at most. And if he was required to permanently stay at Roger’s penthouse - well, Tony didn’t really have any problems with living in such a luxurious and fancy home.

The biggest concern that kept pestering him was whether or not Steve Rogers would be a decent human being. But every time he tried to think about the most detestable outcomes that this occupation could bring him, - like what if Rogers was secretly a cannibal in disguise as an artist - his brain reminded himself of Rhodey’s words and he quickly shot himself down.

Perhaps this really was the best option for him and if all goes well, Tony’s life might seriously improve after cutting away all of his ties from his dad. What else could the brunet do as he tried to pick his whole life up? He can’t just sit around his apartment and keep waiting for his life to truly start again - to really break free from the boundaries that Howard had enforced onto him while he worked for his dad, he needed to work, he needed action… he needed a high-paying job.

Maybe in a couple of years, after Tony had really saved enough to be able to do whatever he liked on his own, he’d finally get back at Howard for all that his dear-old-dad has done to him. And there was a lot that Tony had in mind. Screw trying to make Howard proud - he gave up that long ago when he realized that Howard Stark was practically incapable of loving anyone else other than himself - right now, all he wanted was justice.

Sighing in defeat, Tony leaned against his kitchen counter with his eyes carefully watching his baking _lasagne al forno_ and picked up his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and held it up to his ear.

“Rhodey? I’ll take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝
> 
> Italian Translations:  
> “coglione” - asshole  
> “dannato tiramisù” - damn tiramisu  
> “stronzo” - asshole  
> “merda” - shit  
> “Lasagne al Forno” - baked lasagna  
> “cazzo” - fucking  
> “sfogliatellas” - sfogliatellas  
> “salami di cioccolato” - Italian chocolate salami  
> “besciamella” - bechamel  
> “sugo” - a type of meat sauce
> 
> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝


	4. Carpaccio di Manzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Steve and Tony meet for the first time; Tony finds himself both in love and disgust with Steve's kitchen.
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝
> 
> Love y'all 3000,
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> 𝒞𝒶𝓉.
> 
> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝

“You ready, Tones?”

The elevator dinged and Rhodey gazed at a very still Tony, awaiting an answer.

“C’mon, speak to me. Or we can just open up these doors and walk right in - it’s your choice,” Rhodey offered.

The brunet anxiously clutched onto two glass containers full of food and shook his head, “Tell me why I agreed to this again.”

“Because I’m an awesome, fantastic best friend and because you needed to pull your life together.”

“Yeah, sure, Rhodes,” Tony said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Rhodey gave him an annoyed glance as he pushed the button to open the elevator doors, “Steve? Are you in here, man? I’ve brought someone for you to meet!”

Tony was honestly not expecting a handsome, giant hunk of a blond to come bounding towards the elevator like a giant golden retriever. The man’s hair glistened in the golden sun that shone through the window, his sharp, yet subtle jaw outlined the bottom of his face in an eager and pleasant smile, and he was wearing a dark-blue dress shirt with a black tie and a pair of black pants - a little overdressed for meeting your personal chef but Tony didn’t mind - the blond’s outfit wrapped his figure in all of the right places and his muscles were exposed where he had rolled up his sleeves. Tonyalmost dropped the food in his hands in astonishment as he gawked at the blond; he was really just expecting a man in his mid-forties or fifties, but he wasn’t too upset when he had to finally face reality.

This man was gorgeous - but that didn’t mean that Tony should immediately start trusting him and acting as his personal slave just because he was a pretty blond. His face instantly twisted in a scowl at the thought but he held it back as Steve Rogers finally reached him and stopped in front of Tony, politely holding out his right hand.

“It’s truly an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

So Rogers knew his last name, and now he definitely knew that he was related to Howard and his glorified empire of 5-star restaurants. Wonderful.

Tony visibly swallowed while taking Roger’s outstretched hand, “ _Ciao_.”

Rogers cracked a grin and let go of their intertwined hands. “Is that Italian? You speak it marvelously.”

Inside his head, Tony facepalmed himself but somehow allowed his face to display the teasing smirk that his reaction was unconsciously urging on, “I’ve spoken one word, Mr. Rogers and it was literally just ‘Hi.’ If this is your definition of _marvelously_ speaking a foreign language then I’d like to ask how you managed to graduate high school.”

Okay, so maybe sassing your new millionaire boss wasn’t the best idea for first impressions but for some reason, Rogers actually didn’t seem to care and instead, found the quip surprisingly funny. If this was Howard, on the other hand, Tony would have received about a thousand verbal insults in response to his wits.

“Tony!” Rhodey exclaimed and gave him a light, but forceful shove. “Sorry, Steve. This one here can’t really control his mouth sometimes.”

“That’s alright, Rhodes,” Rogers reassured him. “I thought that it was actually kind of clever.”

The brunet almost punched the unexpectedly-attractive man in the face right at that moment. Tony was the only one allowed to call Rhodey “Rhodes;” who was this guy to call his best friend by such a close name and just who did he think he was?

His body stiffened as Rogers turned to flash Tony a dazzling smile and suddenly the blond’s attention was enraptured by the items he was holding in his hands.

“I’m sorry but can I ask what you’re holding?” Rogers eyed the containers with curiosity.

Rhodey opened his mouth to answer Rogers’ question but quickly stopped himself and looked at Tony, “I don’t want to butcher the names and your language so I’ll just let you tell him.”

Tony beamed smugly but was grateful for Rhodey’s statement nonetheless, “It’s _carpaccio di manzo_ and some _panzanella_. Rhodey thought that I should make some fresh food just in case; apparently, you’re often stuck at home with leftovers and takeout for food - not the fabulous meals that I’ve always envisioned millionaires eating.”

“Sounds delicious although I have no idea what you just said,” Rogers said innocently. “Also, I’m just too busy to go out and buy proper food so…”

“Here he is,” Rhodey pushed Tony one step forward.

“Here I am,” the brunet cast his best friend an annoyed look. “Where do you want me to set these?”

“In the kitchen; go through that doorway,” Rogers pointed in the direction of his kitchen and Tony immediately strode in its direction.

Meanwhile, Rhodey invited Rogers to settle down and chat about Tony’s schedule and what times were best for him to stop by and bring Rogers some food.

Relieved to be free from the tension and uneasiness that had crawled up his throat while he was talking to Rogers, Tony stopped in his tracks to stare at Steve Roger’s gigantic kitchen with wide-opened eyes. The only other kitchen that Tony had been in his entire life that was this spacious was Howard’s and not even Howard’s could have possibly been this high-tech.

Four brand-new ovens sat eagerly awaiting baked delicacies to be placed in them, white, simple cabinets were bolted to the walls, a dazzling chandelier made of star-shaped lightbulbs radiated overhead, and glossy, dark marble counters outlined the entire kitchen, polished and seemingly unused. Clean kitchen appliances such as knives, toasters, mixers, and a coffee machine - which sparkled like a diamond in comparison to Tony’s own overly-used and coffee-stained one - were scattered across the kitchen countertops, and just like the rest of Roger’s kitchen, appeared untouched by anyone in the past few weeks. An expensive-looking flat-screen TV was attached to an open spot in the right-side wall, right over a glass breakfast table paired with metal chairs which were settled into perfect positions as if they’ve never moved in the entire time that they’ve been in the kitchen. Even the wood floor looked pristine as new as it glistened and shone with the light’s reflections. Tony’s head spun in circles as his body moved, turning in every direction repeatedly as he took in the sight around him. Why would a person who’s too busy to ever cook need _four_ ovens and that many differently-sized knives? Because he’s a millionaire and can afford it, that’s why.

Tony counted 7 various knives that hung from a knife rack above the counters furthest from him and he spotted at least a dozen more shoved into a knife block that was moved aside to the end of the counter. Both sets of knives were undoubtedly covered in a thin layer of dust and Tony only confirmed his suspicions as he strolled through the kitchen, racking his fingers over the numerous kitchen appliances and scrunching his nose in the disgusting way that the whole room was being kept in. Sure, the kitchen might _look_ clean from a mere glance but upon closer inspection, it truthfully just looked abandoned as if the owners suddenly gave up the will to cook and eat all together.

Clearing some of the dust away on the main island that was in the middle of the room, Tony gingerly placed the glass containers onto the top of the counter and a soft ‘ _clink_ ’ was heard as it echoed, bouncing off of the walls. There was a wet rag left on the countertop that had previously gone unnoticed by Tony’s eyes and he examined more closely once he had realized it was there. It seemed as if Rogers decided to do some last-minute cleaning before his personal chef got here - the thought of a millionaire personally taking the time and effort to clean up their house for their future “servant” made Tony raise his eyebrows in appreciation. However, Rogers hadn’t gotten very far into his cleaning before Rhodey and Tony had shown up and the rag sat on the countertop, completely forgotten as Rogers and Rhodey happily raved on about some new art exhibit that had recently opened for amateur artists.

The brunet innerly groaned in frustration; no decent chef could even think of cooking in such a high-tech kitchen if it was this dirty. If Rogers is expecting for Tony to prepare his some food worthy of his money and status then Tony would have to let him know that he’d need to at least clean up the kitchen first if he wanted to use the many alluring kitchen appliances and tools that littered around the room; they were practically beckoning Tony’s name and his fingers itched to finally grasp a hold of them, especially that coffee-machine. It probably had a whole AI built into it that announces when a person’s coffee is ready in a steamy female voice. Maybe Tony should stop imagining everything in a millionaire’s kitchen to have a voice and a thought process - some ideas invented in the kitchen were just never meant to be.

Suddenly, Rhodey roamed into the kitchen and plucked the container with the _carpaccio di manzo_ right off the countertop. Upon retrieving the food, he hurried around the kitchen, eventually finding a fork, and took off back into the living room.

Somehow the brunet knew that Rogers had requested to try one of the dishes that Tony had brought along with him and his head began to fill up with fears all based on the possibility that Rogers will actually start to hate his food. The cocky and confident part of him tried to calm him down; it was unlikely that Rogers would just randomly start to despise his food since almost everyone that’s ever tried something of Tony’s has immediately fallen in love with the flavors and taste of his recipes - but it was still a possibility.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have chosen to prepare _carpaccio di manzo_ as this guy’s introductory dish to Italian culture and cuisine - it had never been the most favorited among his wide-selection of recipes by those who have tried it before because of the raw meat in the dish, but Tony knew that it was still a fairly well-crafted recipe and he could only hope that he hadn’t accidentally screwed up something while in the process of making it. He hadn’t tasted the dish beforehand because he wanted to preserve it in the freshest possible condition for Rogers but he desperately did not want a repeat of the day that he had accidentally mistaken a glass bottle of salt for sugar in one of his dad’s restaurant. The result ended up in one of the customer’s _zeppola_ to be horrifically salty instead of sweet and when Howard had found out, Tony was forced to do something that he had never expected to ever do in his life: wear concealer.

But when Tony slowly wandered back into the living room where Rhodey and Rogers were currently talking, his feet stopped as his eyes feasted on the sight of his best friend and his boss blissfully munching away at the remaining pieces of what used to be the _carpaccio di manzo_. As Tony stood there just watching the two eat away the leftover scraps of fresh rucola and cherry tomatoes, his head began to automatically clear itself of all the worries of the _carpaccio_ being too salty, or not fresh enough, or too slimy. Seeing the sight of two people outrightly enjoying his food was more than just a simple reassurance, it was a relief to the insecurities and anxiety that had been creeping into his stomach the minute Tony had stepped his first foot into Rogers’ penthouse. To be honest, the spectacle of such a clean plate was quite soothing to Tony.

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey chuckled as he took in Tony’s in-awe face. “Yes, we finished the whole thing that quickly - you don’t have to ask.”

Rogers merely sat on one of the plush leather couches and licked his lips while he set the empty plate on the coffee table in front of him.

“That was delicious,” Rogers told the brunet with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such good food in my life.”

Rhodey smirked, “Just wait until you try the _sfogliatella_ , and the _semifreddo_ , and the _spaghetti alla carbo_ -“

“Wait, so you guys didn’t mind the raw beef?” Tony asked in shock. “I’d thought that at least one of you would have a complaint on that.”

“Not at all,” Rogers promised him and Rhodey shook his head in agreement. “Everything was as perfect as that _tiramisù_ that I had tasted before.”

Tony nodded in thanks and when Rhodey motioned for him to sit down, he took a seat on the right side of his best friend, letting Rogers sit alone on the sofa on Rhodey’s left.

“What is it?” He questioned.

“So, me and Steve have been talking and we think that we have the best possible schedule figured out for you. You’re going to have to wake up fairly early to be able to make breakfast for Steve but he says that he’s okay with you cooking it the night before and just bringing in to him in the morning, too. You can bring his breakfast to his penthouse if he’s not yet working in his office and during lunchtime, you’ll have to deliver his food to him wherever in the tower he might be. Dinner is similar to breakfast in terms of delivery; just find out if Steve has gone home or not and give his food to him there. Of course, you’re welcome to use his kitchen if you need it to and he’s given you the okay to let you stay in one of the extra rooms of his penthouse if you’d like. Also, he says that you can just chill in the penthouse whenever you have free time or are just not busy; the fridge is also open for you to help yourself to. Does this all sound good to you?”

Gritting his teeth behind his lips, Tony firmly nodded and when he was sure that he was out of Rogers’ view, he shot his best friend a highly-irritated face that practically screamed, “You’re not my parent,” but Rhodey blatantly ignored him.

As if to seal a deal involving the sacrifice of Tony’s soul, Rhodey extended his hand to shake Rogers’ and the conclusion was determined: Tony was one-hundred percent stuck with cooking Rogers like fucking Cinderella.

“And when do I get paid?” Tony asked, annoyed, as he watched the two shake hands.

“Every two weeks,” Rhodey said in return.

Frowning, Tony could only stay silent as it wasn’t the best option for his financial status but it wasn’t downright awful so he’ll eventually learn to deal with it. He just hoped that the next two weeks will fly by in a flash so he can finally stop worrying about the next time that his bills roll in and he’s unable to pay them.

“Is there a contract or some kind of waiver that I have to sign?”

“That’s no problem,” Rogers answered for Rhodey. “We can sort that out tomorrow morning; it’s getting late after all. I don’t know about you but I prefer not to have to continue doing paperwork after business hours are over.”

At least there’s one thing that Tony and Steve could agree on: paperwork. Not the most stimulating topic for friendships to blossom from but Tony wasn’t exactly expecting to develop a close relationship with Steve while he worked for him, anyway.

“Okay, Tones,” Rhodey said. “I think it’s almost time for dinner for Steve - we’ve just eaten lunch after all - why don’t you start getting started on it? Plus, I’ve got to leave for that new art exhibition, anyways.”

The brunet sighed, “‘Right. Bye Honeybear.”

He gave his best friend a bone-crushing hug and waved him goodbye as Rhodey’s face disappeared through the cracks of the elevator doors.

Rogers still remained sitting in the living room and once Rhodey had left the penthouse to the two of them, Tony awkwardly faced him and his unusually-good-looking features, “Well, Mr. Rogers, I’m-“

“Hold on, _Tony_ ,” Rogers emphasized his name but in a friendly, non-threatening manner. “Call me Steve, okay? I’d feel much better about it and _‘Mr. Rogers’_ is for someone that’s much posher and richer than I am.”

Tony bit his bottom lip, hesitantly - a millionaire asking a commoner to call him by his first name as if they were a personal friend? As far as Tony knew, all of Rogers’ friends consisted of famous singers, artists, dancers, and other various celebrities that all referred to him by his first name. This was certainly odd but Tony knew that it wasn’t exactly uncommon. Maybe there was more to this guy than what Tony had seen just fro the museums displaying his treasured art.

He almost declined Roger’s request when he saw that the blond’s eyes were almost pleading him to agree so he caved in, “Alright, _Steve_. Now, before you go and do whatever you need to do before dinner, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll have to dust your entire kitchen first before I can make anything in it so whatever food that I cook might finish sometime later than your usual time for dinner. Sorry about that.”

Steve shook his head and smiled him as he got up off the sofa, “Well, let’s get that sorted out then, shouldn’t we? Here, let me help you with that - no worries, I have plenty of time to help you get my kitchen cleaned up before dinner.”

And with those final words, Steve entered the kitchen, scooped up the rag that had been left on the island, and immediately started helping Tony finish cleaning up the rest of the kitchen.

Perplexed but honestly satisfied, Tony shrugged Steve’s decision off with only a hint of uncertainty and headed right into the kitchen to aid the millionaire who was cheerfully humming a tune to listen to while he worked.

It was odd to see such a rich and famous person willingly help out his own personal chef to clean up his kitchen and frankly, Tony was still a little skeptic about Steve’s behavior but for some reason, the brunet just couldn’t shake off the realization that Steve Rogers was genuinely a good person. In fact, he’s probably one of the most down-to-Earth rich people that Tony’s ever met and Tony’s met a lot of rich _people_ before - up to the point where he could practically guess their personality type, average income, and behavioral patterns the moment that he meets them. Yet this one blond manages to skew all of Tony’s whole plate of expectations right off the countertop in his mind and defies all of the social norms that wealthy, famous, and popular millionaires have become to be known for.

And somehow, Tony was okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝
> 
> Italian Translations:  
> “ciao” - hi  
> “carpaccio di manzo” - beef carpaccio
> 
> ↜◡◠◟◞◜♡◝◟◞◠◡↝

**Author's Note:**

> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧
> 
> Help out your fellow authors and serve them up a meal full of delicious comments and kudos!
> 
> ( ˘ ³˘)💗
> 
> ✧ ─────── ♡ ─────── ✧


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